Chapter 22
(Rose POV)
I breathe easier once I'm alone in the snow-dusted trees. The cold is alive in a way the chill of Underland never was, and now it keeps me going. It's been far too long since I've been home.
I said all the goodbyes I could manage, especially since the odds are slim I'll ever see the children or Puddleglum again. Jill actually cried a bit and flung her arms around me in a hug that could've chased away the bitterest winter chill. I didn't expect so much affection, but it bothered me less than I thought it might. Meaning, not at all. I found my voice enough to wish her well at that ridiculous school of hers – Experiment House, I believe.
Eustace was a bit more awkward, and understandably so. He and I never quite clicked like I did with Jill. Even so, his well wishes mirrored mine.
Puddleglum was, of course, ever the pessimist, assuring me that my adventure home would surely be fraught with danger. It was strangely good to hear some of Puddleglum's mutterings one last time. I even smiled as he mused that I'd be "eaten by a wandering Giant miles south of the border, I shouldn't wonder." I didn't quite laugh, but the tip of his hat was as warm a goodbye as I'd ever have asked for.
And now, at last, I'm alone. It doesn't quite feel real, to finally be walking into the isolation I craved. I half expect a wave of emotion to overtake me halfway through the night, but it never comes. I trod along strangely numb in my toes and my heart.
After a few days, I'm back in Telmara, a city I never wanted to set foot in again. But there are some loose ends to be tied up.
Arriving just before dawn has its perks; I find Sima and Nina at the start of their day, when the looms aren't in full swing as of yet.
"Rose!" Nina leaps up as soon as I set foot at the back door and engulfs me in a choking hug.
"Welcome back, child," says Sima. The usual teasing isn't there in her gravely voice. She looks at me like she can see my grief written across my features as plain as day, never mind how I'm trying not to seem too morose. She's not looking at me like I'm a child anymore. When did that change?
I try to get the words out, but they stick in my throat. I manage an unsteady smile as I return Nina's embrace and try to at least seem happy to see her. All the while, Sima watches me with those too-wise eyes of hers.
"Sima, I…"
"The smith has been cold for many weeks," Sima says.
The knot in my throat tightens. "Yes," I answer. "It has."
Nina's arms fall away. Her gaze darts between Sima and me. Sima must not have told her, or explained what it meant. Poor child only knows that I went off on some journey, and now she's about to hear that I'm leaving again. Do I tell her I don't mean to come back?
"I need to go back home." I push the words past my lips with my tongue dry in my mouth. "To my family."
Sima just nods while Nina looks bewildered.
"But you've only just gotten back," says the young woman, frown lines sharp in her forehead.
I try again for an honest smile. "You know everything you need to, Nina," I say. "You'll have little trouble taking my place. Your work on the loom is nearly perfect."
Nina's lip trembles just a bit. "Exactly. Nearly."
"You'll be alright." This time, I draw her in and keep my arms tight around her until I feel her breathing even out again.
When I turn back to Sima, she's still sitting on her stool, scrutinizing me with those owl eyes. "You travel safe, Rose. I expect you to visit when you're next in town." But I've known Sima long enough to hear when she doesn't believe what she says. And she doesn't believe I'll be back in town again.
I cross the small room and kneel in front of her, and it's then that my eyes decide to come dangerously close to overflowing. "Thank you, Sima," I whisper hoarsely. "For everything."
Sima's wrinkled palm is cool and steady on my cheek. "We made a useful woolmaker out of you after all."
I've never actually hugged Sima in all our years of work. She's swatted me before, and in her old age I've helped her walk many a step. Never a true hug. But today, at this bittersweet goodbye between us, I fall forward and throw my arms around her, tears leaking down my cheeks onto her shoulder. She soothes me, but before long it's back to the old ways between us; she shoos me out the door with a twinkle in her eye and gruff affection in her eyes. It's good, to have these familiar things.
I find the home I shared with Darin much as I left it. His cloak still hangs by the door, the table is still set with a single set of dishes – though now they have a fine layer of dust. And to the left lies the bedroom door, as open as I left it.
The knot in my throat slides down to my chest, constricting my breathing as I gingerly step inside.
At once, I frown. It's different in here, messier than I left it. I certainly didn't break the nightstand against the wall.
The answer comes in flashes. Caspian running to me across the plains, clutching at me and staring like he thought I'd vanish like a ghost. Caspian worrying over my health, trying to get me to eat, to sleep, to open up in my grief. Caspian starting to say something on the Sunless Sea before I hushed him. Caspian always looking at me like he was afraid I was lost entirely. Caspian looking at me with guilt hidden under the joy when we found Rilian.
He knew, before I said a word. He must have been in here. There wouldn't be a reason for anyone else to come in and break a piece of furniture. The place hasn't been looted.
The air is still stale with the memory of the death here. I set my jaw, grab a few spare sets of clothes, and rush out, throwing the door shut behind me. I'll never set foot in that room again.
I open the pack a faun kindly sent me off with from the snow dance and shove my clothes inside. I don't bother with food, not when Tanssi Kuun has plenty of it. I like the freshness of the wild things there far more than bread and stew anyway.
On my way out, I take Darin's cloak and throw it around my shoulders. If I turn my face into the hood, it still carries a trace of his scent. My heart throbs a painful rhythm.
I leave the door unlocked and ajar – the closest I can come to a declaration that the space is vacant and open for the taking. I have everything I need. Perhaps the next tenant will find more happiness there. Peace.
It's sunset by the time I reach the tree. I pull the pendant I took back from the witch from my girdle and step into Tanssi Kuun without looking back.
None of the faeries are nearby, but it's just as well. I'm not quite ready to give up my solitude yet. I brush my fingers against the wild, sharp grass of my home. I have enough calluses on my fingertips now that they don't cut into me like they used to.
The moonset is nearly finished by the time I'm close to the clearing and the pine woods beyond. I tug Darin's cloak tighter around my shoulders and breathe in all the memories I can as I stare up at the sky. Waiting. Waiting.
There. The thorn in my heart eases to an echo. He's up there, winking back steadily in the twilight. He glows green, but nothing like that sickly green of the witch. His is deep emerald, like the green of the pine forest. Warm, soothing. Just like he was.
I sink to the ground and wind up sitting cross-legged at the edge of the clearing, staring up at Darin until my eyes cross. This is how Bashar finds me, with a crick starting in my neck. I sense her more than see her, though her swirling ribbons tickle at the edge of my sight.
Wordlessly, I hold out the pendant.
Bashar floats barely an arm's length away. A golden ribbon of hers brushes against the pendant. I cleaned it with snow on the way, so it would gleam in the moonlight as it's supposed to.
A cool blue ribbon brushes my cheek and winds behind my head. Gently, oh so gently, Bashar guides my head down until I'm looking at her instead of the sky. Her ribbon glides down to my neck, the slight chill soothing away the ache in my neck.
I let her guide me up to my feet and into the pine forest, where the faeries are supping on wild berries and pine nuts. I can't quite get the food past my lips, but my heart lightens being here with them.
Finally, I've come home.